A New Perspective
by JaneDoh
Summary: A secret relationship...a tarot reader...and a disturbing case. Trust me, anything more would just give it away. DoggettReyes


**Title:** A New Perspective

**Author:** JaneDoh

**Disclaimer:** Does anything even need to be said here? I mean, duh, it is FANfiction.

**Dedication: **Huge thank you to nuritacobarrubias (Nuria) for convincing me to write this story myself instead of passing the idea onto someone else. Who would have thought a comments page on youtube would have ended up leading to this!?

**Author's notes: **I knew minimal information about tarot before writing this story, and although I wouldn't exactly say my research was extensive ;) hopefully it made the story a little more realistic and convincing. Information about tarot was gained from the site: learntarot (can't put the rest of the address because fanfiction site blocks it dammit! I'm only trying to give credit!)

One of my x-files music videos was the original place that I came up with this idea so I only expanded on it for this story. Read the story first if you don't want the plot ruined. However, the video can be found at my youtube site. The link to the page is in my profile, and the video is called This Is Not Goodbye. (But it's definitely a nice change just writing what you want the characters to do instead of manipulating clips and taking conversations out of context for videos:p)

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John squinted at the unwelcome intrusion as the early morning sun spilled over the sheets and probed between his eyelids, not-so-subtly reminding him it was time to get up. He blinked a few times while the haziness subsided and lazily rolled over, smiling contentedly when his eyes began to focus on the vision before him. The warm glow of the rising sun bathed his sleeping partner as she rested peacefully, her dark hair cascading across the pillow and shielding her eyes from the penetrating light. He wished that he could share the remainder of the morning with her, but he knew that he was forced to get ready for work, to keep up the image of life as an FBI agent - where partners did not spend their nights together. He dreaded the thought of having to go home, get changed, head off to work and then maintain the facade that he and Monica were just work partners whenever they associated with their colleagues.

Thank God for the basement. At least there were some advantages to being isolated from other agents for part of the day. John smiled to himself at the memories of Monica's playful innuendo in the months before he finally reciprocated in earnest and pushed their relationship in a more definite direction. He still had a snap-shot image in his mind of the look on her face - the slight questioning of her raised eyebrow, unsure if it was all part of the game - as he had slowly leaned towards her. He recalled how her expression had become more serious as the enormity of the situation dawned on her, and he had paused briefly as he looked into her eyes, before she cautiously mirrored his movements and leaned closer until their mouths had met. Their lips barely brushed each other, both of them testing the reaction of the other in those few seconds of contact.

John was suddenly brought back to reality as Monica stirred next to him, her eyelids fluttering slightly while she continued to dream. He sighed gently, resisting the urge to disturb her before he left, by reminding himself that he would see her again in a couple of hours.

XXXXXXXXX

The sun was a little brighter by the time Monica's arm moved to the other side of the bed, hoping to feel the warmth of John's skin even though she was sure he would already have left. She slowly opened her eyes which confirmed her suspicions, and she looked past the emptiness of what was now John's side of the bed to the clock on the bedside table that gloatingly informed her she had half an hour to get ready for work.

She hadn't exactly had time the night before to set the alarm.

The last two weeks had been a blur. Since that day in the basement, there had hardly been much time they had been apart. Their workmates didn't seem to have noticed anything different, whether it was because both her and John had made a conscious effort to keep their professional lives as normal as possible, or because no one was paying enough attention.

So much for FBI agents having good observational skills.

Whatever the reason, Monica didn't care - she was just happy that John had finally taken the initiative to test the validity of the hints she had been giving him since they started working together. Who knows how much longer they may have continued in that game of uncertainty if he hadn't finally allowed himself to accept what she was offering. Not that she hadn't enjoyed the flirting...it was just that what she had eventually gained from it was so much better. Monica was still unsure what the final catalyst had been on that Friday. The weekend was beckoning, relaxing the atmosphere of the office and as the minutes ticked closer towards five o'clock she asked him if he wanted to have a couple of beers after work as they had done several times before.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

John had laughed slightly, telling her that he had just been about to ask her the same question. She had smiled broadly in response - maybe they had both become too predictable. While John adjusted his trench coat around his shoulders, she leant past him to retrieve hers from the coat rack. Her hand had brushed past his shoulder as she pulled the garment towards her and she remembered feeling goosebumps travel up her arm. Maybe it was that sixth-sense of hers, whispering about things to come. And as she had looked up from her arm, she had seen John's face, leaning ever so slightly towards her. The countless times she had dreamt of kissing him, she had never envisioned the two of them in the basement, amidst the paperwork and files that encompassed the routine of their lives.

Nothing special about the scenery.

Until those striking blue eyes were staring at her, willing her to commit to the flirtatious statements she had constantly put forward. The sincerity in his eyes was obvious and she had practically felt her mind screaming at her. _This is the moment_. It was what she had wanted for so long, but now that it was reality, she was a little uncertain. It all rested on her decision. So she had slowly moved closer.

She grinned slightly at the memory. Who was she to argue with fate's timing? The only concern that now tainted their situation was the likelihood that someone was going to find out about their co-curricular activities. Everyone knew the rules about partners fraternising in so called 'unacceptable' behaviour. Not that she was really sure how strictly adhered to these rules were. Of the stories that had floated around FBI headquarters from time to time, she had heard various outcomes including official warnings, transfers and dismissals. Like any workplace, it was difficult to know where truth ended and gossip lurked. She just hoped that the inevitable was still a long way off. She was having too much fun at the moment to cloud their relationship with regret or practicality...and when the situation did arise, she would hopefully have had time to create a way to deal with it.

XXXXXXXXX

"Running a little late this morning, Agent Reyes," warned Carl as she passed through the metal detectors in the foyer. "Hope the bosses aren't keeping too close an eye on those cameras," he joked before waving her through.

"Yeah. Damn cars, you can never trust them to start when you need them," she offered as her excuse, smiling sheepishly. She continued to the elevator, confident she would have it to herself. There was never exactly a line of agents eagerly awaiting the elevator that was heading downwards. As she began her descent, she reassessed her actions - using the car as an excuse was easy enough as a one-off, but she would have to be more careful about sticking to her work routine if she was to assure herself that she wouldn't ruin things for both her and John. She sighed - if only he wasn't such a distraction. The doors of the elevator began to open and she heard the sound of John's voice reverberating along the narrow corridor that led to the basement. She couldn't hear what was being said, but as she walked through the door, she saw John placing the phone down.

"Who was that?"

John jumped slightly. "Jesus, Monica, you scared the hell outta me," he replied as his heart rate slowly eased back to normal. "I was about to send out the search party."

"Sorry I'm late," she answered, with an expression of innocence, "I just seemed to have no energy this morning for some reason."

"Hey, I was feeling a little run-down myself...maybe there's some virus going around," he cheekily suggested. "Anyway, now that you're here, you might wish that you were sick."

"What do you mean?"

"That was Kersch... and it's the second time he's rung this morning. He wants to see both of us in his office ASAP."

XXXXXXXXX

"Good morning, agents," Kersch greeted them as they made their way to the seats opposite his desk. "I'm glad to see this meeting finally made it to your priorities list." His head remained dipped but his eyes glared over the rim of his glasses.

"Sorry, Sir, car problems," Reyes interjected quickly. They sat in awkward silence for a few moments, Kersch's favourite method of making his subordinates' blood pressure steadily increase.

"I have a job for the two of you." He slid some case files over the desk towards them. Doggett opened the folder and his jaw clenched at the site of the crime-scene photos. Even his background as a cop could never overcome that initial reaction upon seeing victims of violent crime. He scanned over the images of the women. He didn't know what he found more disturbing; the blank stare of lifeless eyes, or the large cut extending the breadth of their throats.

"After the bombing on East Street last week, we have several agents still on grief-leave or in hospital, which leaves us short of staff in homicide at the moment. Seeing you two have been a little light on cases recently," he added smugly, "I'm assigning you to help AD Follmer in this investigation." Doggett did well to hide his disgruntled groan by pretending to clear his throat. "He is at the third crime-scene as we speak. I've rung ahead to let him know you are on your way."

As Doggett and Reyes were just about to leave the office, Kersch left them with some parting words. "And don't worry, agents, I'm sure AD Follmer will slowly ease you back into working on some _normal_ cases."

XXXXXXXXX

"Arrogant prick!" John snarled as he manoeuvred the sedan through the carpark, the squealing of the tires gaining a few interested stares from bystanders. Monica could see the vein at his temple pulsing as it had been since they left Kersch's office, and she had been waiting for his frustrations to surface.

"John," she pleaded, as the car swung onto the street under protest of several horns. "Just calm down. There's no need to add us to the list of agents in hospital." She placed her hand on his bicep, squeezing gently until she felt some of the tension dissipate. He took a deep breath and released some of the pressure from the accelerator.

"Sorry, Mon," he sighed. "I just can't stand that smug look Kersch gives us, sittin' back as though he is all high-and-mighty."

"Well, he is our superior," Monica pointed out. "Maybe he just feels the need to remind himself how important he is," she added slyly. She saw the corner of John's mouth curl up and was happy she could see the colour returning to his knuckles as he loosened his grip on the steering wheel. She was always a little concerned at the amount of anger he could pent up, seeming to be coping with life in general, until something would set him off like a firecracker. She had noticed, however, that lately his outbursts had been less frequent. Hopefully it was a sign of his contentment with the choice they had made two weeks ago. They sat quietly for a few minutes until Monica broke the silence.

"You know when you told me this morning that we had a meeting with Kersch," she said, with a tone of concern in her voice, "I thought he might have found out about us."

John looked over to her briefly, his brow furrowed. "So did I."

"I was so nervous walking into that office. I guess it was good in a way - I'll have to think of it as a reminder of how careful we have to be."

"I agree. We just have to make sure that we act normal when we are around colleagues."

Monica swivelled in her chair, looking around in an obvious manner. "I don't see anyone around here," she commented, before leaning over until her lips were an inch from his ear, her breath carrying a whisper, "so I guess that means the car is fair game?"

"Normally I would say yes," John replied as they rounded the corner and he nodded his head towards the alley that loomed ahead of them, "but there's Follmer."

Monica shot back to her side of the car, just as Follmer turned at the sound of the engine. He sauntered over to the car and John reluctantly rolled the window down.

"About time you two showed up."

XXXXXXXXX

Follmer pulled back the sheet from the victim's face. "Twenty-eight year old Janine Hods, throat cut just like the other two." He bent down, and opened the mouth with his gloved hand, revealing an empty space where the tongue should have been. "And this...same MO." Reyes felt her stomach lurch and her hand moved to her forehead, cradling it slightly. This was one sick bastard.

"Any leads?" Doggett questioned.

"None so far, Agent Doggett," he replied defiantly, "but the homicides have taken place over a ten day period, so the perp seems to be working quickly. Real cocky bastard too, he's escalated to committing his crimes in broad daylight." He looked from Doggett to Reyes. She noticed that certain glint in his eye - he was holding something back.

"So you are sure there is no other information pertinent to the case that we should be informed of, Agent Follmer?" she challenged him. There were insights she had gained about his character from their two year relationship, and he knew she could tell when he was trying to hide something. He fidgeted uneasily and licked his lips, pondering how best to put forth the information.

"There may be links to other cases ... other unsolved homicides," he looked down at the body, stalling for time before facing them again. "Dating back to 1996."

"You gotta be kiddin' me." Doggett ran his hand through his hair turning away slightly as he processed the information. He turned back, his brow casting an ominous shadow over his eyes. "You're tellin' me that a serial killer has been operating for years, and now that he seems to be increasing his frequency, Agent Reyes and I are roped into the case like some last resort?" He was fuming." We get called down here, expected to work on a case that we have barely been briefed on, and then find there is other information that wasn't even in the case report."

"May I remind you, _Agent Doggett_, that I am the officer in charge on this case and you have been placed in the position that has been deemed most suitable at this point in time." The two of them stared, each testing the resolve of the other. Doggett reluctantly conceded defeat, realising he was fighting a losing battle. "The previous murders had been spaced years apart, so it wasn't until the recent events that the cases have been linked."

"What do you need us to do?" Reyes offered, hoping to break the tension.

Follmer turned to her, his expression softening slightly. "Start interviewing potential witnesses. We've had little luck so far, no-one seems to have seen anything suspicious. In each of the cases, witnesses remember seeing the victim, but the offender has never been sighted. It's like he commits these murders, and disappears into thin air." His head remained facing Reyes, while his eyes shifted towards Doggett. "Sounds like something right up your alley, so to speak."

Doggett gave him a wry smile before heading down the alleyway towards the shop at the far corner. He could hear Monica's footsteps on the road, quickening to catch up with him. "Working with Follmer...always a pleasure," he stated dryly. As they neared the shop door, he turned his head towards her. "You know what? I'll never understand what you saw in him."

"John," she warned, not impressed with where the conversation was heading. It was all she needed to say - he knew well enough to keep his mouth shut.

"After you then," he said gallantly as he held the door to the corner store open.

XXXXXXXXX

Reyes glanced at her watch. They had been interviewing staff from local businesses for the last two hours and had gained little useful information. Several witnesses claimed to have seen the victim jogging, but there was no indication of anyone following her. A waiter from the small cafe opposite the alley informed them that Miss Hods was a local and she usually jogged along that same route, so he hadn't really taken much notice. He had been setting the tables that morning and when he looked up, he had seen something on the ground near the garbage tins. After walking outside and crossing the street, he realised it was a body and called the police. He was adamant there was nothing else he could think of that was helpful. The two agents were feeling dejected - they didn't seem to be making much of a contribution to the case.

"Looks like we have nearly exhausted our options," Doggett commented.

Reyes pointed to a doorway, partially obscured by a dilapidated sign: Trinkets and Tarots. "There's still one place to check."

Doggett squinted as he tried to see through the darkened windows. "How could they see anything out of those?" He glanced over at Reyes. "I guess these sort of people don't need to see with their eyes... they'll just claim they saw the crime with their minds." He was ready for the playful slap she gave him.

"John!" she said indignantly. "Don't be so condescending." She grabbed him by the sleeve and ushered him through the door. The teenage girl sitting behind the counter looked up as the agents' shadows broke the sunlight that crept through the doorway.

"Can I help you with something?"

The agents automatically reached into their trench coat pockets and produced their badges. "We just need to ask you a few questions," John informed her. The girl looked taken aback. "Don't worry," he hastily added. "We just need to know who was working this morning."

"Just Mrs Kingston and me." Reyes scanned the small shop, unable to see anyone else. "She works through there." The girl pointed to a curtain hanging at the back of the store.

"I'll go," offered Doggett. "You finish up in here." He was sure that Monica would be able to make the girl feel more at ease; she definitely had a gift at calming people. As he passed through the curtain, Reyes turned her attention back to the girl, smiling reassuringly before her face became more serious.

"I'm not sure if you have heard what happened this morning."

"I heard lots of sirens earlier this morning, and now you two show up, so I'm guessing it's not good."

Monica hated this part: destroying people's feelings of safety in their own neighbourhood. "There was a murder, just up the street." The girl stared at her grimly. "I need to know if there was anything unusual you saw today."

"I'm really sorry," said the girl, jerking her head towards the darkened windows, "but I don't get to see much of what's happening outside while I'm working." Reyes could see her point. It looked like another dead-end in the case. She nodded at the girl and started following the path Doggett had just taken. Although the shop was dimly lit, it had a homely feel about it. Monica stared at the trinkets along the shelves, fascinated by the intricacy of the crystal figurines along one wall. She picked up one that depicted a dolphin playfully somersaulting out of the water and regretfully replaced it, remembering she was actually here on a case and should come back in her own time otherwise she could be distracted for hours. As she neared the back room, she sensed that John hadn't fared much better in his investigation. She slid back the curtain and saw him standing next to a small, round table, talking to an elderly woman seated on the other side with a stack of tarot cards sitting in a neat pile in front of her. She looked to be in her seventies. Her grey hair was tied back in a bun, and the wrinkles on her face seemed an impression of a happy life. Reyes only caught the tail end of the conversation.

"Look dear, I wish I had something to help you out with," the woman offered with a regretful shrug, "but most of the time I am in this back room."

"Well, thank you for your time." Doggett was turning to leave just as Reyes entered the room.

"You wouldn't want your palm read, by any chance?" questioned the woman, still focusing on John. "Those hands look like they have a few stories to tell."

"Umm, no," John chuckled. "It's not really my kinda thing, Mrs Kingston." Reyes edged closer to the table, standing next to him. "Although my partner here may be more interested." The woman then turned her attention towards Reyes. Suddenly, her smile fell and the colour began to drain from her face. The room almost seemed to darken slightly. Monica instinctively moved towards her, worried she may be about to faint.

"Are you OK?"

The woman remained in the chair, her eyes never leaving Monica but she acted as though she hadn't even registered that she had been asked a question; she looked like she had seen a ghost. The room remained silent, as though the world had halted in anticipation of what was about to happen. The woman composed herself and slowly rose from her seat, shaking slightly. She looked at Monica intently, as though absorbing the image before her.

"I need to ask you a question." Monica looked towards John, who shared her confused expression. She turned back, concerned at how quickly the mood of the room had changed. The woman's features hinted at the importance of the words that were to follow. "When is your birthday?"

"The thirteenth of March," Reyes answered, unsure of the significance, but intrigued as to what benefit that fact provided.

The woman acted as though it was information she was already privy to, but wanted to ensure was correct. "Let me guess." The woman dipped her head and took a deep breath before continuing. "1968?"

Monica felt her heart skip a beat. Was this some fortune-teller trick? It may have just been a lucky guess. But the hairs on the back of her neck began to tingle. The woman seemed to be waiting nervously for confirmation.

"Yes," said Reyes, her voice barely above a whisper. By this stage, both her and John's anticipation was unbearable. "Can I ask why that is so important?"

The woman closed her eyes briefly and her lips moved silently like she was running through a pray in her mind. As she raised her head, Monica could see the glistening in her eyes. "Because you are my grand-daughter."

XXXXXXXXX

Monica felt her head spinning and she reached one arm out to steady herself on the top of the chair in front of her. She remained in stunned silence, trying to comprehend the woman's words. It didn't make sense; her grandparents were dead - both sets.

_No_, she reminded herself, _my_ _adoptive_ _grandparents. _

"You were adopted, right? From a Texan hospital," the woman continued quickly, as though desperate to convince Monica of her claims. She returned to her seat, her shaking hands placed before her with the fingers intertwined. John could see the thin veil of sweat that beaded Monica's brow and her bottom lip twitch slightly as her brain tried processing the information. She stared blankly then turned towards the door, disorientated. John gently placed his hands on her shoulders, guiding her to the table and pulled at the chair that stood opposite the old woman.

"You'd better sit down, Monica." She slowly responded to his suggestion, her eyes remaining unfocused. "I'll go and get you some water."

"No," she said firmly, panicking as though he was abandoning her. She looked up at him with pleading eyes. "Please, just stay." She reached out for his hand, grasping it as though it were the last link to the normality her life had had a few minutes ago. Was this some kind of joke? It wasn't as though personal information was that difficult to come by these days - she could have gotten half the information from a driver's license alone. She turned to the woman, her internal turmoil somewhat quelled by the sincerity in the woman's eyes.

Monica's logical FBI mind was warning her to keep her guard up, but another part of her was aching for the link to her heritage to be true." How can you be so sure?" John could feel her grip unconsciously tightening around his fingers. The woman continued to look at Monica, shaking her head in disbelief.

"You look so much like her." The woman reached down to a bag hidden under the table and retrieved an old purse. The continuous tremble of her hands made it difficult to open but she soon found what she was looking for. She delicately pulled a photo from its clear sleeve, glancing at it briefly with a reflective smile, before gently sliding it across the table. Monica cautiously picked it up, holding it as though it would crumble if she wasn't careful, and then took a sharp breath when she saw the image. It was almost like she was looking in a mystical mirror - one that reflected her image back at her, though aging her face by several years. "That was taken five years ago," Mrs Kingston divulged. "At the last family reunion."

"This...this is my mother?" she asked, even though she knew what the response would be.

The woman nodded gently then reached out and cradled Monica's hands, the photo caught in the middle. "Do you know how long we have been searching for you?" A flood of emotions ran through Monica. The evidence before her was overwhelming but there were still so many blank spaces and questions. She looked into the dark brown eyes that beckoned to her from across the table, urging her to accept the story. She _wanted_ to believe. It seemed like an eternity that they sat there in contemplation before Monica looked down at the photo.

There was too much happening for her mind to be functioning properly. "I need some time to think." She rose from her chair, feeling guilty as she saw the look of consternation that swept over the old woman's face. "Please," she offered as reassurance, "I just need a little more time."

"I understand," the woman said. It had been a moment of immense significance for both of them and maybe it was in their best interests to go over what had happened in their own time. "Just take one of my cards from the front counter on your way out. It will have my number on it." Monica went to pass the photo back across the table, but the woman shook her head in protest. "Keep it."

Monica gave her a weak smile and nod, the best indicator she could muster that she would keep her word. She headed towards the curtain, John walking faithfully beside her. Just as they were about to pass through the doorway, John stopped in his tracks as a thought hit him. "I'm sorry Mrs Kingston, but I just realised we don't even know your first name." The two agents waited for her response.

"Oh, I'm sorry dear," she stated. "It's Sophia."

Monica looked down at the photo in her hands. Sophia didn't wait for the inevitable question. "Her name is Julietta."

XXXXXXXXX

John was the first out the door, holding it open as Monica followed him in a daze. The rays of sunlight were like a slap of reality. She leant against the wall outside the shop, her chest rising heavily as though it was the first time she was able to breathe properly since the revelation. John had never seen her looking so fragile. Throughout his son's case and their time as partners, her empathy for those suffering had never faltered. _She_ was usually the one who was the pillar of strength; the loyal friend who would listen intently and promise that everything would be all right. And to see her looking so vulnerable scared him. He reached out to her cheek, cradling the side of her face in the hope that the physical contact would give more credence to his words. "Monica, I know that what you just heard was a big shock. And I know how important this is to you." Her soulful eyes urged him to continue. "You know I will be here to help you."

"Yeah," she confirmed. "I know." Her grateful smile calmed him somewhat as he slowly let his hand fall from her face.

The sudden appearance of Follmer emerging from around the corner startled the two agents. "Where have you two been? I assume you have finished up with the interviews?"

"Just finished the last one then," Doggett replied on their behalf. "We were just heading back to headquarters to write up our reports." He looked towards Reyes, noticing her breathing was still slowing back to its normal rate.

Follmer looked from one to the other with a glare of distrust. Doggett shifted uneasily, unsure of how long Follmer had been there before making his presence known. "I have to finish up with the local PD. I'll meet the both of you in my office in two hours. Have your reports ready."

They headed back to their car without saying another word, each of them lost in thought, and the remainder of the trip was clouded in awkward silence.

XXXXXXXXX

The agents had barely been back at the office for half an hour. Each of them sat at their desks, reviewing the information they had gathered that morning before finalising their reports. The usual quickened tapping of Reyes' fingers over the keyboard was subdued, as she struggled to concentrate on the work. During one of the pauses, Doggett looked over to her.

"You should go home, Mon," he suggested. "I'll tell Follmer you went home sick. I can finish off the reports."

"John, I'll be fine," she assured him. "Anyway, I'm almost done - it's not exactly the most challenging report I've ever had to write." He had to agree. It was hardly worth the effort, but sticking to protocol was the safest bet where Follmer was concerned. However, Doggett regretted not being able to just hand in their reports - the thought of having to liaise with Follmer a second time that day was excruciating. The remainder of the afternoon passed amongst the subtle sounds of notes being shuffled and tapping at the computers, until the intruding ring of the phone. The call was unnecessary - Follmer had already organised the time of the meeting - but it was his overt reminder that he would be monitoring their actions.

"Damn, I was hoping he'd forgotten," Doggett joked as he put the phone down.

"Yeah," Reyes replied half-heartedly. Doggett wasn't even sure she had heard what had been said.

XXXXXXXXX

"Thank you for your in-depth analysis, agents." Follmer leant back in his chair with an ostentatious smirk as the meeting drew to a close.

Doggett paused before responding, in case Follmer felt the need to make any further snide remarks. As none were forthcoming, he took the initiative to see what else was expected from Agent Reyes and himself. "I take it we will be informed when we are needed again?"

"You will be briefed with further developments as they arise, and until the majority of staff is back working full-time, consider this case your highest priority." Follmer leaned forward and placed his hands either side of the reports that sat on his desk. He scanned over them as the other agents rose to leave.

Doggett was already in the hallway when he heard Follmer's belated comment. "Agent Reyes," he stated, his eyes not deflecting from the paper in front of him, "I need to talk to you before you leave."

Monica stopped mid-stride, looking questioningly at Doggett as he turned back towards her.

"I'll see you tomorrow then," Doggett said pointedly in a loud voice. There was no noticeable reaction from Follmer but Doggett waited until Reyes was back in her seat before leaving.

XXXXXXXXX

John propped his head up on the end of his couch with his feet extending past the other end and the rest of his body filling the majority of the space. The sports news droned away in the background and although it often held his interest, tonight the words of the news-reader blended into a monotone. His mind was crammed with questions and uncertainty. He wanted to call Monica and see how she was coping, but he knew she needed her own space - she needed time to replay the events of the day. He also wanted to know what Follmer had said to her in his absence. And why the hell did he need to talk to her alone? Then he felt guilty because that was more a sign of his insecurity than of his concern. It was probably just one of his power plays, John tried convincing himself. He stared at the ceiling as though the answers to all his problems would fall upon him. He closed his eyes briefly before he reached over to the coffee table and picked up his phone, quickly punching in the numbers. After five rings he considered hanging up, but then he heard the familiar voice at the other end.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me. I just wanted to see how you were doin' after everythin' today."

"I'm fine, John," she told him even though her voice betrayed her.

"You sure?"

"I'm a big girl, John. I can look after myself." There was an awkward silence. "Look, thanks for the call, but I gotta go. I'll see you tomorrow."

"OK, I'll talk to you tomorrow." He kept the phone to his ear until he heard the click of the receiver at her end before switching off his phone. She was _definitely_ not fine. Should he take heed of her request even though he knew it was superficial, or go to her apartment and talk to her? He knew she would find it hard to hide her true emotions if they were face-to-face. John weighed up his options - he knew what _she_ would do in the same situation - and that thought made his decision for him. He grabbed his car keys.

XXXXXXXXX

John tapped at the door then shoved his hands in his coat pockets, protecting them from the night air as he waited. Half a minute passed before he knocked again, a little more forcefully this time.

"Monica?"

There was still no response. He wouldn't normally have been worried but he had rung her barely half an hour ago so he was sure she had to be home. He could feel his phone weighing down his pocket and considered ringing to see if that got her attention but decided to test the door first. He heard a click as he put pressure on the lock and the door slowly creaked open. _Now_ he was worried - Monica would never leave her door unlocked. He cautiously walked into the darkened hallway and instinctively reached for his gun - which wasn't there, he realised, when he felt the loop hole of his jeans. His casual clothes reminded him he was there as a friend, not on a stakeout. A faint sound of instrumental music floated from Monica's bedroom and he could see a dull light emanating from the direction of the kitchen, reaching along the floorboards. As John tried to choose where to look first, a voice from the kitchen broke his concentration.

"No, por nada, simple curiosidad." There was a short pause before the voice continued. "Adiós Mamita. Te quiero"

The phone clattered as it was placed back in its cradle. Realising it was only Monica, John released the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He was making his way toward the kitchen as she made her way out, her head hanging deep in thought, but the light from behind kept her in silhouette and made it difficult for John to see her expression.

"Mon..." he started. Her head jerked up quickly as she scrambled backwards, her heel catching the edge of the rug, sending her crashing into the doorframe. The light from the kitchen now illuminated her startled features and her breathing came in short bursts.

"Oh my God, Mon, it's only me," John reassured her, realising his error. As she had walked from the room, her shadow had kept him in darkness and now her pupils were dilating, trying to adjust to the dimness of the hallway.

She closed her eyes briefly as her hands clasped over her chest, willing her heart to stop thumping so wildly. "What the hell are you doing, John?" Although the statement seemed accusatory, her voice portrayed her sense of relief. She remained with her back against the wall, unsure her legs would hold her full weight just yet.

"I am _so_ sorry," he said with his hands before him in a placating fashion. "I just wanted to come and check that you were OK."

"Really?" she asked in a sarcastic tone. "Well I was doing all right till you almost gave me a heart attack." She tried to maintain the playful banter but the shiny streaks of dried tears that tracked down her cheeks was a giveaway. John waited a few seconds, hoping she would reveal her thoughts and save him from having to ask. But she didn't.

"Mon, please," he pleaded. "Just tell me the truth."

She remained frozen against the wall, the rising of her chest and blinking of her eyes the sole indicators she was not a statue. She stared at him defiantly for a few more seconds before the facade crumbled and new tears brimmed at her lower lashes before spilling over and following the previous tracks. She slowly slid down the wall, ending with her knees tucked and her face buried in her hands in a belated attempt to hide her sorrow. She did well to soften her sobs but she couldn't stop the shaking of her body as she drew in each breath. John felt helpless - this was not the Monica he was used to seeing. He crouched down beside her and rested his back against the wall, then placed his arm around her shoulders. She remained with her face covered for a few more moments before turning towards him, resting her head on his chest as his shirt drew the tears away from her face.

He hoped that his presence was enough because he couldn't think of anything he could say to make her feel better.

XXXXXXXXX

"Well, I'm glad you decided you had the strength to move," John told her. "My ass was starting to go numb." He smiled at her from the other end of her couch as she rested her elbow against the back and propped her head up to face him. The soft glow of the candle-light threw flickering shadows upon the walls of the living room.

"I'm really sorry," she cringed. "I don't know where all that came from." She felt slightly embarrassed by what had happened even though she now felt the best she had since that morning. "I guess everything just hit me at once." She looked towards John, debating whether to let him in on what she was thinking.

"Just before you came, I was on the phone..."

"Yeah, I know. I caught the tail-end of the conversation," John interjected.

"I was on the phone to my mother," she continued. John's eyes widened. Monica noticed his misinterpretation in his expression. "My _real_ mother...sorry...my _adoptive_ mother." She sighed. "You know what I mean - to me she is still my real mother."

John thought back - she had been speaking Spanish. Of course it was her adoptive mother. His logic had obviously gone out the window. "Did you tell her anything about what happened today?"

"No," she replied, picking at a piece of thread that had come loose on one of the cushions. "I don't want to say anything until I know for sure that this is all really happening." It was the best way she could sum up the day's events. She kept picking at the thread, unsure whether she should continue.

"And...?" John prompted.

"And I wanted to ask her something that I had thought was strange, ever since I was a little girl." John was intrigued. He shifted on the couch, trying to make himself more comfortable as Monica tried to think of the best way to put forth her story. "John, do you know what my middle name is?"

He looked at her with a bewildered stare. When her expression remained serious, he retreated to his mind, searching for the answer. He knew he had seen it written somewhere...

His expression brightened as he saw the name emerge in his head. "Yeah," he started. "Its..." he faltered mid-sentence as the link fell into place."Oh my God."

"Julietta," she confirmed. "The same name as my birth mother."

"That is weird," he agreed. "Are you thinking that your mother...you know, adoptive mother...knew your birth mother's name? And that is why your parents chose that name?" He didn't want to dredge up family history if Monica didn't want to deal with it - he was only trying to see what track her mind was on.

"No," Monica replied quickly. "My family was very open about telling me I was adopted. But they were never able to access any records about my birth parents." She looked at him earnestly." I _know_ they are telling me the truth." It was enough for John to believe her.

"But getting back to what I was saying before. I remember being in second grade and my teacher correcting my spelling on one of my class projects. Everyone in the class had to do a painting of their families and write their name down the bottom so they could be displayed around the room. Anyway, I wrote my name: Monica Julietta Reyes, with a double 't', and the teacher crossed one of them out. I remember her telling me that Julietta is spelled with one 't'." Monica took a breath before continuing. "So I said to her '_well, not in my name'_ and traced back over the letter with my crayon then stuck my picture on the wall." John smiled at the thought of an indignant seven year old Monica taking on the teacher. She shrugged slightly when she saw his reaction. "I guess I had problems with authority from an early age."

"Just think of it as good practise for when you had to start working with Kersch," John said. She smiled in response.

"So, a few years later at the start of the new school year, there were two Julietas in my class, each spelt with a single 't'. You see, I found out that in Spanish that is the usual spelling. I never got around to asking Mom why she had chosen to spell my name that way." Monica shifted slightly, tucking her legs up onto the couch as she continued. "Obviously the information I found out today made me even more curious. So that's why I rang Mom tonight and asked her why she had chosen that name. She told me that it had just seemed like the right name for me, like she was drawn to it. She couldn't explain it - even the spelling - she just said that she and Dad already had a first name chosen, but when they looked at me for the first time, the middle name just seemed to suit me." She grinned at John. "Funny, huh? I never understand how parents say a name is perfect for their kid when they have only seen them for a few moments...but she said it was true." She paused before finishing. "Do you know what she said to me just before I hung up? She said to me _'it was just meant to be'_."

John looked at her questioningly. He wanted to tread carefully with his next move, not wanting to upset her by disregarding the potential significance because he knew it was important to her. He knew Monica was more open-minded then he was, but he couldn't tell how much she was reading into it. "So, do you think it is just a coincidence," he probed, "or that it has some meaning behind it?"

A small smile started to appear on Monica's lips as she watched John struggling to show he was going to respect her opinion, while tying to somewhat maintain his stance on happenings that occurred outside his comfort zone. "I honestly don't know." She chewed at her bottom lip and shrugged slightly. "I just think it seems a little strange. I don't know - maybe it is just fate's joke on me."

Monica seemed to relax, as though part of the tension that had been accumulating throughout the day had been released. John felt he had made the right decision checking on her - at least she had been given a chance to release her emotions and maybe it would help her decide what she would do next with the information she had been given. He tried to imagine what it must be like in her situation - he admired the fact that she had managed to make it through the rest of the day at work. She remained pensive, replaying what she had been through and pondering when she would contact Sophia again. John looked over to her. He was still eager to know what had happened in Follmer's office after he left but decided against pushing her for more details. They sat there for a few moments in the soft light, each lost in their own thoughts, until a crashing sound from the hallway pulled them back to reality. Both of them jumped up from the couch and peered down the hallway before Monica let out a sigh of relief.

"It's only the door," she informed John. Her voice trailed off as she made her way down the hallway. "The wind has caught it - the latch mustn't have been closed properly." She pushed the door against the offending wind then clicked the lock.

As she made her way back, John mentioned his earlier concern. "You know your door was unlocked, right? I mean, that's why I was in your hallway when you got off the phone."

"Hmm," she replied, staring at the ground with a look of concentration as she tried to think back, "I was just so frazzled when I got home, I must have forgotten."

Although they were now standing only two feet away from each other, Monica kept her gaze focused on the floor. John didn't want to sound like he was probing, but he had to see if there was more than the conversation with Sophia that was troubling her. "Monica, are you sure there is nothing else that is worrying you?"

She fidgeted with the ring on her right hand. She then realised that the fact she had stalled in answering had given away that she was withholding something. "I should have known an FBI agent wouldn't give up on questioning too early," she said, only half joking. She looked into his eyes. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to say anything right away but I guess you would find out at some stage." She resumed her previous position on the couch and reached out for his hand. "You'd better sit down."

XXXXXXXXX

The music that had previously been drifting from the direction of Monica's bedroom had ceased, leaving only the sound of the rattling windows and whistling of the wind as it forced its way through small gaps. John couldn't tell if the temperature had dropped in the room, or if the slight shiver that went through him had been prompted by the troubled look on Monica's face. She still had a tentative grip on his fingers and he followed in the direction of their hands, coming to rest next to her on the couch. He was so close he could see the reflections of the candlelight dancing in her eyes and hear her breathing each time there was a lull between gusts of wind.

"After you left this afternoon, Brad told me he had to inform me of something that may affect my career." Her look became more sombre as she continued. "Actually, both of our careers." John had already braced himself - as soon as she had used Follmer's first name, he knew she hadn't been asked to stay back because of something related to the case. She always seemed to switch to using his christian name when it was in regards to something more personal.

She couldn't stall any longer. "He knows about us."

John swore, not quite under his breath.

"He said that he has known for the last week, but let things slide until now. He said he '_hoped we would realise the error of our actions before he had to intervene.'_ " She mimicked his voice sarcastically. She shook her head slightly. "He is such a fucking hypocrite."

Monica had been dreading having to tell John, and she knew that was part of the reason Brad had only talked to her. He knew how much it would hurt her to have this conversation with John. She had never regretted her relationship with Brad, but the danger was that he knew her on a whole different level compared to her other colleagues. There were probably elements from their intimate relationship that were mimicked in the one she now shared with John. It was only her nature - everyone's personality follows a pattern to some extent. She was naive to think that he wouldn't pick up on subtle differences in her character recently. After all, he had been in that position with her a few years ago - he knew all the tricks of trying to keep a relationship secret.

John grimaced as he tried to put into words what he was thinking. "Why is he doing this? I mean, he was doing the _exact same thing_ a few years ago. If he said anything, he would be implicating himself." He kept thinking, as though his reasoning would provide an answer to the dilemma. As he ran through the possibilities in his mind, he reached a disconcerting conclusion. Monica could see the change in his features as he came to the realisation. "There would be no point in you revealing your previous relationship - it would just drag your name through the mud twice." Doggett's free hand rubbed at his eyes. "He would get off lightly compared to what you would lose."

"Maybe he is just bluffing." She didn't sound so sure of herself. Brad had made it quite clear when he had transferred to Washington that he still had feelings for her. And that is what she couldn't understand: how was this supposed to make her feel more amicable towards him? Or had he realised that he no longer had a chance, so the path of revenge had become more inviting for him? Monica knew he would love nothing more than to destroy John, but she hoped that he still had enough of a fondness for her not to act on his threat. His argument that it was his duty as her superior was nothing more than a convenient excuse.

Monica shifted her hand within John's until their fingers intertwined. She was desperate to show him that despite all that she was risking, she wouldn't forsake what they had recently gained. She just hoped he felt the same. As John gently let go of her hand, she closed her eyes, prepared to accept if he considered their predicament too risky, and said a silent prayer. The loss of contact tore at her soul, but the separation was brief as she soon felt John wrap his arms around her and pull her close. Her cheek rested against his chest as he ran a hand through her dark locks, while his other arm wrapped firmly around her waist, promising his unfaltering protection. Monica kept her eyes closed as she savoured the comfort of his embrace.

"Don't worry, Mon," he reassured her. "I see the way he acts around you - his demeanour changes whenever you are in the room. You've got him wrapped around your little finger."

"Yeah," she murmured quietly, trying to convince herself. "I hope so."

XXXXXXXXX

Monica sat at her desk, twisting Sophia's card between her fingers as though it may reveal details she had previously overlooked. Her conversation with John the night before had helped her see things more clearly and coax her into delving further into her unknown past. John looked up from his desk as he heard her pick up the phone.

"I'm going to call her."

John gave her a reassuring smile. "Good for you. I think you are doing the right thing."

She dialled slowly, and then tapped her fingers nervously as she waited for the phone to be picked up at the other end.

"Hello?"

"Hi Sophia, this is Monica." She was talking quickly. "You remember, from the other day?" she added, redundantly.

The sigh from the other end was audible. "Of course." Her voice calmed Monica. "I've been waiting for your call."

"Can I meet you somewhere? So we can talk?"

Monica scribbled the meeting place on a pad of paper, screwing her face in annoyance as the lead tip broke and she flicked the pencil into the bin, before retrieving a new one from the holder to record the rest of the message. She hung up the phone a little flustered and eyed the tip of the new pencil.

"What is it with FBI funding? Can't they afford decent pencils?" she asked suspiciously as she ripped the top page from the pad and placed it in her pocket.

"Of course the pencil breaking has nothing to do with you getting all worked-up and pressing too hard," Doggett remarked jokingly.

"Thank you for that helpful insight, John." She screwed up her nose in mock exasperation. She looked at the clock - ten minutes until lunch-break. "I'm going to go to Sophia's house. I'll be back after lunch."

"That doesn't really give you much time." Doggett pointed out.

"I know...I just want to take things a step at a time at the moment." She picked her bag up from the ground then rested her trench coat over her shoulder as she headed out the basement door. She stood at the end of the hallway staring at her shoes until the elevator door opened, alerting her of its arrival. She walked through the sliding doors before they had opened completely...and crashed directly into Follmer.

He placed his hands on either side of her elbows to help steady her and looked at her with a puzzled expression. She seemed a little agitated. He wondered whether she had spoken to Agent Doggett yet about the meeting yesterday. "Where are you off to, Monica?"

It took her a moment to gather her thoughts. "I, uh, have an appointment."

_Maybe they did have that talk, _he thought to himself, somewhat satisfied, _and now reality is kicking in. _

"Well, unless it's a matter of life-and-death, I'll need you to postpone it." When she didn't respond, he assumed that meant it wasn't. He twirled her around by her elbow, and escorted her back towards the basement. She shifted her arm until the contact was broken and walked the remainder of the way slightly ahead of him. If he had been planning on making an unexpected visit to the basement to catch John and her in a position that directly contradicted his warning from the previous day, he was going to be sadly disappointed. She smiled smugly, hoping he wasn't able to see from his position. As they rounded the corner Doggett could be seen diligently going through files at his desk.

"I thought you..." Doggett started before Reyes' expression alerted him to choose his words carefully, "weren't going to be back until after lunch," he finished as Follmer also entered the room.

Follmer's eyes explored the basement before he informed them of the reasoning behind his visit. "We've got a lead in the case."

Doggett pushed his sleeves up his forearm then rested his elbows on the desk. "It must be a big break for you to come on a personal visit to the basement to give us the news." He looked pointedly at the phone before looking at Follmer.

Follmer kept his resentment towards Doggett well hidden. "I have just returned from a meeting with the officer from the local PD who is assigned to the case," he explained, "and I thought it would be more _convenient_ for me to stop here before heading back to my office to organise a meeting with the two of you." He gave Doggett one of his righteous smiles, daring him to answer back.

Reyes rolled her eyes as the other two continued to glare at each other. "So does this mean there is something you need help with?" She noticed the tone in her voice sounded annoyed, so she quickly added: "Agent Follmer?"

Follmer looked at her and nodded slightly. "I wanted to give you an opportunity to think this request over, off-the-record."

Monica felt a little uncomfortable. He looked as though his statement was sincere, but she wondered what the motive behind it was. She knew he could be manipulative at times but deep down his intentions were honourable. Well, usually.

As Doggett and Reyes were becoming more impatient, Follmer enlightened them further. "We have a suspect. Actually we have his apartment block under surveillance at the moment." He looked for any reaction from the other two agents. "The trouble is, we need to get more solid evidence against him."

Although he knew the next thing he was about to tell them should be routine, he found it difficult. "We need to use an agent as bait." He looked at Reyes. Her expression didn't falter. It was obvious where he was going with the conversation, but after being at that crime-scene and knowing that the perpetrator was still free, she had no qualms in assisting.

"Agent Reyes," Follmer began, trying to maintain a note of authority in his voice, "we think you are the most suitable candidate for the job." He quickly continued. "You fit the profile of the victims. You also..."

"Brad," she broke into his speech, "I'll do it." She couldn't tell whether he was relieved or worried by her decision.

"Monica," Doggett interjected, "just take some time to think this over." He didn't care that there was obvious concern in his voice. Any agent would act the same if their partner had been assigned to go undercover to help catch a violent offender.

"Look, Monica," Brad added, as protocol headed out the window, "we can find another agent if we have to. You aren't obliged... I just wanted to let you know ahead of time that you are going to be asked."

She gave him a staunch look. He knew her decision was final.

Follmer handed her a file. "It will take a couple of days to get things set up. And your decision will have to be made official." He indicated to the folder. "This is what we have so far. I will give you the official case report as more details are confirmed."

He exited the basement and his footsteps ceased as he waited for the elevator. John and Monica refrained from saying anything until they were sure he was gone. Monica even checked around the corner when she heard the sliding doors bump together, just to be sure. She grabbed the chair from her desk and wheeled it over to John, placing it next to him.

He raised his eyebrows as he made his next comment. "Monica, you do realise how dangerous this could be." He wasn't asking.

"We all know there are risks when we sign up as cadets, John. Someone has to do the job." She looked at him with questioning eyes. "If it's not me, it's another agent who is put in the same situation, so what's the difference?"

_You,_ thought John, _I wouldn't have to worry about _you_ going through it. _But instead he nodded his acceptance of her decision. How could he convince her otherwise? Her willingness to help others was one of her most admirable character traits - he knew she would never renege once she had made up her mind.

"Besides," she said as she elbowed him lightly in the ribs, "you'll be there to protect me, right?"

"Not if you keep assaulting me," he joked. She raised one eyebrow in defiance. "Just kidding," he continued, "I'll watch over you like a hawk."

"See? I have nothing to worry about then," she said before adding pointedly, "with you looking after me, what could possibly go wrong?"

They turned their attention to the folder that rested on the desk in front of them. Doggett lifted the front cover over and they looked at the name that was emblazoned across the top of the page: Erwin Timothy Lukesh.

XXXXXXXXX

The next day, the agents were called in to the 'official' meeting. The operation would take place the following afternoon, with Reyes posing as a new resident of Lukesh's apartment building. She would have continual contact with both Doggett and Follmer as they monitored from a van parked outside in the alleyway. The remainder of the day was filled with refining the details of how the operation would be played out, and organising surveillance equipment.

As Doggett and Reyes made their way through the carpark at the end of their shift, Monica began to pull her phone from her coat pocket. John gave her a questioning look.

"I'm going to Sophia's this afternoon. I had to call her yesterday after Follmer's unexpected visit to tell her I wouldn't make it. So I promised I would go after work today."

John made his way to his own car, and then looked in her direction from behind the windscreen. He could see her chatting on the phone before hanging up, the engine of her car rumbling loudly in the confinements of the carpark. She didn't even see him as she passed his car, her eyes locked forward in concentration. John hoped for her sake that things would go well.

XXXXXXXXX

"Come in, dear," Sophia beckoned as Monica stood awkwardly on the porch. "I just finished brewing some coffee." She ushered her into the living room then retrieved the coffee from the kitchen, the aroma wafting throughout the house.

They sat on the couch, their mugs resting invitingly on the coffee table. They both took a sip of their hot drinks before Sophia started the conversation. "Monica, I haven't spoken to your mother yet, because I know you will decide when the time is right." Monica smiled gratefully. "But I assure you that she will be desperate to talk to you." She reached for Monica's hand and caressed it in her own. "The family has been searching for you for years."

The nervousness from their initial meeting had gone, and Sophia now seemed to radiate calmness, her warm smile putting Monica at ease. Any previous doubts she had about the truthfulness of the recent revelations had dissipated.

"She was only sixteen, you know. It broke her heart to make that decision." Sophia shook her head sadly, remembering the difficult time. Monica didn't respond - it was all so much to take in. "We couldn't find any records when we began searching - there was a lot of red-tape, especially as documents had crossed borders." She sighed before continuing." I don't want to go into too much detail, because I think it is something that the two of you need to talk about personally."

Sophia released Monica's hand as she reached into a pocket, retrieving a piece of paper. "This is your mother's number." She passed it into Monica's waiting hand.

"Thank you," Monica replied earnestly, placing the paper in her bag. Although there were many more questions she had about her mother, she agreed with Sophia's reasoning. However, there was something else she wanted to know. Her adoptive family was spiritual in a religious sense, but not as open-minded in general as Monica was. She had often wondered if her sixth-sense was a gift she had inherited. She tried to formulate a more appropriate way of gaining the information she desired. "I noticed the other day that you read tarot cards."

"Yes," Sophia replied. "I've worked in that shop for the last few years. It's more of a hobby, I guess. It's not like I need the hassle of a full-time job at my age."

"So, was it something you had to learn?" Monica probed.

"I had to learn how to read the cards, yes," she told her, "But I've always had an affinity for knowing what people are feeling, the path their lives were headed. The cards were just a way to enhance what I could already do. It's hard to explain. My mother had the same ability." She laughed slightly. "Now I just sound like some crazy old woman."

"Not at all," Monica assured her, leaning forward to indicate her interest.

"The ability seemed lost on Julietta," she reminisced. She paused as she gathered her thoughts then gave Monica an inquiring stare. "You don't have any strange feelings sometimes? Like there is an extra force trying to guide you?"

"Oh...no," Monica lied. "It does sound useful, though."

"It can be at times," Sophia confirmed. "But other times, it can be a burden."

At that moment, Monica felt the connection between them strengthen. To find someone who knew what it was like to be plagued by unwanted visions filled her with a sense of relief. She wanted to tell Sophia everything; the images of charred bodies, the premonitions, certain feelings that seemed to emanate from people around her. She had finally found someone who would take her seriously, yet years of being ridiculed had taken their toll. Although Monica knew Sophia would be grateful if she confessed her abilities, it was still something very personal to her, and she wanted to pick the right moment to go over it in detail - to acknowledge its significance. There would be plenty of time to delve into that aspect of her life later. Monica looked at her watch. She really should have been getting ready to leave, but she was fascinated by Sophia's stories and wanted to get more information.

"So why did you start using tarot cards? I mean, what was the appeal?"

"I found people were more receptive to information that seemed to magically be gained from a deck of cards, rather than me picking up on information they didn't know they were telling me. For some reason, props seemed to make them feel more at ease."

"What type of information do people want to gain from a reading?" Monica paused for a moment, thinking to herself, _God, I sound like I'm in FBI mode with all these questions._

Sophia chuckled. "We will be here for hours if I have to go through all the finer details." She thought carefully before making her next statement. "Let me explain it this way. Sometimes you use the information as a guide to help you make decisions. I mean, when you come to a point where you are unsure what action to take, think back to what the cards have said to you." Monica listened intently, intrigued by the reasoning. "Other times, the meaning of the cards may not become apparent until the moment has passed. You may look back after a certain amount of time has occurred and realise some of the events had already been destined to happen."

Sophia smiled at her, pleased that she seemed to be genuinely interested.

"Look, I know it can all seem a little vague at times - believe me, I've had my fair share of disbelievers," Sophia divulged, smiling when she saw the sympathetic look on Monica's face, "but I am constantly amazed at how accurate readings can be."

"Do you think you could do a reading for me?" Monica asked tentatively. "Just a quick one - I mean, I'm just intrigued by the whole idea."

"Of course, dear," Sophia rose from the table. "Just let me get my cards."

While Sophia made her way to the antique bookcase that stood in the corner of the room, Monica scanned the rest of the house that she could see from her position - it was simple, yet comfortable - and she was overwhelmed with a sense of belonging. The whole situation just felt right. Monica studied Sophia as she made her way back to the table. She could see a little bit of herself in Sophia's features, and a _lot_ of herself in her personality. Monica had always been grateful for the family that she had grown-up with, but finding the link to her heritage was priceless. It helped fill a few more pieces in the puzzle of her life.

Sophia passed the deck to Monica as she resumed her seat. "I'll start with something simple. Shuffle the deck and pass me a card."

Monica followed the instructions, closing her eyes briefly as she was drawn to one card which she then handed over. Sophia kept the card face down. "This is a daily reading," she explained. "It will basically be an insight into the next twenty-four hours of your life."

Monica nodded her understanding as Sophia turned the card over, placing it face up on the table. Monica felt uneasy when she saw the image of a man suspended upside-down.

"The Hanging Man," Sophia murmured. "Don't worry about the picture, dear," she added when she noticed the look on Monica's face. "Remember, it's all a matter of interpretation. Now, each card has several meanings attached to it, although they run a common thread. There are four main actions associated with this card. And the events aren't necessarily going to be in this order," she added. "First of all, he represents the actions of letting go, such as an emotional release or accepting what is."

Monica thought the words over. She looked up at Sophia - did she know that was how Monica was feeling right now? The whole afternoon had basically led her to the feelings of acceptance that she was experiencing at this very moment.

"I know, Monica," she said, understanding the significance. "Sometimes the card almost seems like it chooses _you_." She paused a while before continuing. "He also forewarns of changing your mind about something."

Monica's brow furrowed in concentration. "Don't try to dwell on it too long, it may not be a decision you have even thought of yet," Sophia reminded her.

"The next thing is taking time out to reflect. Pause for a while and forget about the future - live for the moment."

Monica smiled at the thought of that. She was sure it was something that would come easily. She remained lost in thought until her concentration was broken when Sophia sighed slightly.

"Is there something else I should know?" Monica asked, prompted by the change in Sophia's demeanor.

"Is there anything significant happening tonight or tomorrow that you know of?" Sophia inquired.

Monica struggled to make her expression remain even. She couldn't divulge any information about the case although she was anxious to know where the conversation was heading. "Nothing in particular," she lied. "Just work-related stuff."

"Hmmm," Sophia murmured, closing her eyes as she absorbed the feelings around her. "The final thing the card represents is sacrifice. It could just mean putting others first," she thought aloud, although she felt a little uneasy, "but just make sure it doesn't end up having a detrimental effect on you."

Monica felt upset at the look of concern that now clouded Sophia's features. She attempted to lighten the atmosphere. "Well, now that I know my future," she said brightly, "I'm sure I can pre-empt any problems."

Sophia smiled warmly in response. "Yes," she agreed. "I'm sure you can."

They smiled at each other for a few moments before Monica started to get up from her seat reluctantly. "Anyway, I'd better get going." Sophia rose to meet her. "But I want to thank you for everything you have given me so far."

"You know you are welcome here anytime," Sophia proclaimed, before hugging Monica tightly. "But please ring Julietta soon, there is so much more you need to find out, for completion."

"I will," promised Monica before turning and making her way to the door.

XXXXXXXXX

Monica dumped her bag and keys on the floor and flopped down on the couch. Her exhaustion had refrained from making itself known until that point. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath - she just needed some time to relax. She reached over to the table beside the couch, and picked up the remote for the CD player. The soft music was an attempt to drown out the thoughts that had constantly been hounding her over the last few days. As she replaced the remote, she saw the piece of paper that Sophia had given her, sticking out from her bag.

_Not yet,_ she thought, _I just need more time to work out what I want to say._ She rolled her eyes when she realised she was lying to herself, because she knew the real reason was that she was still too scared to take that final step. She forced herself to get up and grabbed the paper then headed towards the phone. She rummaged through a drawer, pulled out a roll of tape and stuck the number next to the phone - it was the best insurance against the paper getting lost amongst the chaos in her handbag.

With the knowledge that the number was now safe, Monica began to fill the bath. She let the water level rise until it almost reached the top, before sinking into its warmth. She felt her tension ebbing away and closed her eyes, almost falling asleep. Her body seemed to rejuvenate as each minute passed and the calm atmosphere helped clear her mind. Several more minutes went by with only the sound of the music indicating that the world was carrying on, until the phone began ringing. She considered not answering for a moment before grabbing her towel and hurrying in its direction, using all her skill to try and wrap the towel around her body while simultaneously attempting not to slip on the floorboards. It was no easy task. She skidded the last foot of the journey as she picked up the receiver.

"Hello?" she forced out, trying to regain her breath.

"Hey, Mon, it's me," John stated. He could hear her heavy breathing. "Have you just finished runnin' a marathon or somethin'?"

It took a few seconds for her to respond. "Sorry," she apologised as her breathing slowed. "I was having a bath when the phone rang."

"Really?" he asked." So I guess I don't need to ask what you are wearing, then."

"I'm sure your imagination can fill in the blanks," she responded dryly. "Anyway, this better be good." She stared in exasperation at the puddle at her feet that was steadily increasing in size.

"Of course it is! I'm cooking dinner for you. I'm sure you don't feel the need to be slavin' over your stove after the day you've had." Monica hadn't realised how hungry she was until the mention of food. "Look, I've already started cooking, so you can't refuse."

As she considered the offer, she saw the piece of paper next to the phone, taunting her. "OK, I'll be there soon," she decided. "There's just something I have to do first."

XXXXXXXXX

Monica was barely through the front door before John wrapped his arms around her waist and gently kissed her, savouring the moment as though they hadn't seen each other in weeks. His arms remained in place while he pulled his head back slightly. "Did everything go OK?"

"Yeah," Monica smiled contentedly. "It did."

"Great," he said sincerely, leading her by the hand to the dining table. "Dinner is almost ready."

She sat down as John headed back to the kitchen. "So, is there any interestin' news you have to share?" he shouted as he gathered the plates.

"I rang Julietta."

John nearly dropped one of the plates at the unexpected statement. He regained his hold and made his way to the table, placing the plates down carefully. "That was quick. I mean, I thought you wanted to take some time to decide how you wanted to approach her."

"I know," she leaned forward as John sat down opposite her, "I didn't exactly plan on ringing her. I got home and thought I would just relax...take my time before making any decisions. And then I remembered something someone told me today...and I changed my mind." She smiled when she looked at John's questioning expression. "Don't worry, I'll tell you more about that later."

As John served the food, Monica continued. "I have a brother and sister, you know." Her excitement was obvious. "Well, a half-brother and half-sister."

She was torn between quelling her hunger and sharing her thoughts. She twirled a few strands of pasta around her fork and ate a mouthful, barely swallowing before revealing more. "When I was a kid, I was always kinda jealous of the other kids at school who had siblings. I felt like I was missing out on something." She took another bite and sipped at the wine John had just poured.

"Well I'm glad you decided to contact her then. And that there doesn't seem to be any animosity within the family." He looked her directly in the eyes, his voice full of sincerity. "You deserve to be happy, Monica."

She was stirred by his honesty. She knew how hard it was for him to express his feelings, but as he had become more comfortable with their relationship his caring side was appearing more often, even if it was only when they were alone. Her expression was enough to convey how much she appreciated his comment.

"There's something else, too." She waited until she had his full attention. "I'm going to meet Julietta...next week."

"Wow. Everything just seems to be happening so quickly." He knew that things had seemed rushed lately - for both of them actually - but he was elated that Monica was much more vibrant than she had been over the last two days.

"You know, John," she began, leaning forward as though she was letting him in on a secret, "It's like my life is finally falling into place. I just feel like..." she thought over her words carefully, "like nothing can go wrong for me at the moment."

"I hope for both our sakes that's true."

"Well, apart from the thing with Follmer," she added light-heartedly. "He might take a bit of manipulating." They laughed at the thought of Follmer's reaction if he knew they were blatantly rebelling against his warning.

Monica relayed the rest of the information she had gained that day as they continued their meal. She filled him in on the details of the reading that Sophia had given her and John listened intently, although slightly sceptical. She marvelled at how the card she had chosen fit so perfectly and how she felt it had helped her make the decision to call Julietta. Although John believed that the vagueness of the cards could be interpreted many ways, he was glad that it had given Monica a sense of peace and direction. He watched her chatting away happily, like an excited child that had learnt something new and wanted to share the knowledge, and was pleased that the happy-go-lucky Monica that had been missing for the last few days had returned with vigour. He could see the wonder in her eyes as she tried to explain the intricacy of the tarot cards, even though Sophia had only given her a brief lesson.

"It's just all so interesting," she mused. "I'd really like to learn more about it."

"Well maybe she can teach you," John suggested. "I'm sure you'd have a natural flair for it - I mean, it must run in the family."

"So you believe in tarot all of a sudden?"

"Not exactly, it's just that," he started, looking slightly ashamed at what he was about to confess, "I mean, you _do_ seem to be receptive to certain things." She smiled at his awkwardness. "Well, sometimes," he added as an after-thought.

Monica laughed out loud, knowing it must be killing him to admit anything remotely related to the paranormal could be possible.

"What?" he asked indignantly.

"Nothing," she assured him, though the grin remained.

"Anyway," he continued, "if you had trouble picking it up, you could always bullshit - you have a flair for that too."

Her mouth dropped open in feigned shock and she went to defend herself before resigning to the fact. "Actually, you've got me there."

She finished the wine from her glass before rising and collecting the plates. John picked up the cutlery and glasses and led the way to the kitchen before placing the items in the sink. Monica rinsed the plates then began to dry her hands before turning to face him. She didn't want to leave, but she knew that she should - they both had to be alert for tomorrow. Monica mulled over the decision - maybe this was the sacrifice she needed to make. "Thanks for dinner. And the talk. It's just what I needed." She walked over to him and cupped his face in her hands, kissing him softly. She pulled back regretfully. "But I'd better start heading home."

John moved his hands up to encircle her wrists, and gently moved their hands till they were placed either side of their bodies. "Come on Mon, what happened to _living for the moment_."

She gave him a surprised smile, amazed that he had been attentive enough during the dinner conversation to remember that phrase. "Don't tell me _I'm_ going to have to be the responsible one," she chided. "Tomorrow is a big day. If we don't get enough sleep, it could end up disastrous," she added melodramatically.

John was glad Monica wasn't wearing her shoes, because it meant he was just taller than her and he used the rare opportunity to his advantage. "Well, maybe we could avoid the whole situation," he started as he kept his hold on her wrists and moved towards the couch, forcing her to walk backwards, "if I stopped you from going." He finished the sentence with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"Really?" she teased. "You and what army?"

He continued walking until Monica's legs bumped into the couch and she fell back into it, ending with him pinning her against the cushions, their noses almost touching. She smiled, waiting for his reply. "I don't need an army," he whispered triumphantly. As she started to open her mouth in response, John intercepted any chance of a comeback by covering her lips with his. He felt her relax as she deepened the kiss.

For once, Monica didn't mind not getting the last word.

XXXXXXXXX

The tension in the van had been steadily increasing since the start of the operation, worsening as Doggett and Follmer argued over how best to handle the situation now that someone had entered the building. Doggett could feel his blood pressure rising. It was obvious that the man they could see on the surveillance video was their suspect, and the more that Follmer disregarded his suggestions, the more infuriated he became. He could tell from the smug look on Follmer's face and the slow deliberation with which he spoke that he was delaying taking any further action until _he_ decided the time was right.

"We got an agent alone with a psycho who likes cuttin' out woman's tongues." Although he was angry with his superior's power-play, he tried to remain calm, in the hope that Follmer would see reasoning. "A guy known for his vanishin' act."

"We got the block surrounded," Follmer began as though the plan was faultless, his gaze remaining focused on the monitor. "He isn't vanishing anywhere."

Follmer chose his next words carefully. "And your partner volunteered." He knew it was a stinging blow. Agent Reyes had agreed to be part of the operation, which meant she was under his control. He knew it must be killing Doggett to know that the final say rested with him.

Reyes was positioned in the foyer of the apartment block, the audio piece barely noticeable as it trailed from her ear to the rest of the equipment that was hidden beneath her clothing. She continued acting as though she were fixing the bike in front of her, while the real focus of her thoughts was on the person that she had heard push through the doors behind her. The urge to turn around and see for herself was strong but she relied on Doggett and Follmer to be her eyes and fill her in on the details, and she trusted their judgment completely. She was unaware of the argument that was going on between her fellow agents as they monitored the scene. She waited patiently for any instructions.

"Agent Reyes," Follmer's voice carried through the earpiece, "standby."

_This is it,_ she thought. _We are finally going to get him._ She paused, her ears just able to discern the soft sound of sneakers leaving the room.

Doggett watched the scene play out in a muted green colour on the screen in front of him. He saw her reach for her gun, intent on completing her task. "Monica, don't," Doggett warned, his uneasiness with where the situation seemed to be heading was blatantly obvious.

"Agent Reyes, keep your distance," Follmer overruled as Doggett turned to him in disbelief. "Don't let him see you following."

Doggett was stunned into silence. The visual equipment was only set up to monitor the foyer...as soon as Monica walked towards the hallway, they would lose sight of her. His gut feeling told him that it was becoming too risky to continue, while his mind cautioned him that Follmer was the one running the operation. He stared back at the monitor in front of him as Monica moved out of screen, a look of cautious determination dominating her features.

Reyes followed the suspect, cursing the thumping of her pulse through her ears which dampened her sense of hearing. Her training kicked in, reminding her to focus and try to settle her nerves. She kept her gun in front of her body like a protective shield as her eyes continually scanned the area, alert for any sign of danger. The sudden lack of communication from Doggett and Follmer made her realise how alone she really was as she continued down the dark hallway.

Doggett stared at the agent beside him. He couldn't tell whether Follmer's expression conveyed concentration on how to handle the unplanned circumstances that had arisen, or concern for the position in which Monica had now been placed. Doggett's heart thumped wildly, each second that passed an excruciating reminder that his partner was taking herself deeper into unknown territory. A flood of emotions coursed through his body: helplessness, anticipation, worry - all mixing together with adrenalin until he felt that he was going to be sick. He couldn't wait any longer.

"Monica, where are you?"

She informed them of her location, but only made it halfway through the final sentence.

And then she screamed.

XXXXXXXXX

John had one driving force: Monica was in trouble, and he had to get to her. The world rushed past in a blur of colours as he focused on his goal, desperate to reach her as soon as possible. As he rounded the corner into the stairwell he saw the haunting image of her standing there, clutching at her throat as blood trickled down her hands and onto the floor. He barely had time to holster his gun and reach out to her before she was overcome by weakness and started to collapse.

He didn't even hear Follmer calling for back-up.

All he knew, in that single desperate moment, was that his promise to protect her was now worthless and he watched her dying in his arms, distraught in the knowledge that the only thing he could do was cradle her as she fell into oblivion.

And then his anger took over, the burning desire for revenge engulfing him as he turned from the tragedy and ran down the hallway. He heard Follmer shouting something about a gun, but couldn't discern the full sentence. He just vowed to himself that Monica's sacrifice would not be in vain.

He burst into the alley.

XXXXXXXXX

Follmer's hand was still touching the side of Monica's face as he tried to comprehend the image before him. Her cheek still felt warm but her pupils were dilated, confirming what he tried so desperately to deny. He closed his eyes tightly, and fell to his knees beside her.

_'What have I done?_

He slowly pulled his arm back from her face and stared in stunned silence as he turned his palms over - he literally had the blood of her death on his hands. He replayed what had happened over in his head, wishing he hadn't let his ego get in the way. His deluded memories of what he and Monica had once been clouded the reality of what they had become. He had lost her to Doggett, and instead of accepting the fact, he tried to use his position to drive a wedge between them. His bitterness had impaired his judgement, and he ached inside for the loss he had indirectly caused. Any coherent thoughts of the case were gone as he hung his head in defeat, realising that in the end, it was she who had unwittingly made the ultimate sacrifice, yet it was those who remained that had to live with the suffering.

XXXXXXXXX

"Turn around you son of a bitch!" Doggett shouted at Lukesh, shaking slightly with the intensity of the words. Lukesh paused slightly as though deciding his next move. Doggett felt a wave of repulsion move through him as Lukesh slowly turned at the end of the alleyway with a look of smugness, his hands stained red with blood.

Monica's blood.

The sound of sirens and screeching brakes bounced off the walls of the alley as police cars started arriving. Doggett kept his gun focused on Lukesh as he turned his head to the side and alerted the officers of his location. It was barely a couple of seconds that he had taken his eyes off Lukesh, yet when he moved them back to their previous location, Lukesh had disappeared.

_What the hell is going on?_

Doggett walked forward cautiously in the direction where Lukesh had been standing. He kept his gun positioned firmly in front of him in an attempt to maintain some normality amongst the confusion that had engulfed him. He began to twist slightly on the spot, hoping to find any hint of where Lukesh may have gone. He suddenly realised that the alley was now silent - it was as though everything had frozen in time in expectation. The situation had a surreal feel to it and Doggett's mind was working overtime, desperately trying to make some logic of what was happening. And then he sensed Lukesh, standing directly behind him. He swung around as quickly as he could manage, his finger already applying some pressure to the trigger. But his intentions were cut short as a deafening crack exploded from the gun in Lukesh's hand.

XXXXXXXXX

A beeping of machines and hushed whispers. The sensation of a tube down his throat and the timed rising of his chest with a ventilator.

_Hospital,_ thought John.

He tried to move - to open his eyes - anything that may wake him from this nightmare. But he knew it was reality - his mind alternated between flashbacks of the tragic events that had led to this point, and the drug affected haze of his current state. He intermittently heard voices around him, the tones portraying urgency and concern, but his consciousness would never remain long enough to decipher what was occurring. No matter how much he tried to fight it, he kept slipping into deep sleep.

John wasn't sure how much more time had passed before he once again heard a conversation in his room. He thought he could discern a few voices...Scully...Skinner...

...Monica.

John's brain froze as he tried to comprehend that last revelation.

_Monica is dead. _He replayed the image of her lying in his arms as her eyes were losing focus. _Surely she couldn't have survived._

The more he heard of the voices, the more convinced he was that Monica was there - standing in the very same room as him. He tried to reason with himself. _Maybe the shock of what has happened has damaged my memory. Or is what happening now even real?_

Between his own jumbled thoughts and the effect of the medication, John could only pick up on bits of the conversation. There were a few words that stuck out: gun, witness, crime. All he knew was that it was something to do with the case, and he had to get a message to them. He realised he could move his finger and his mind clicked into his marine training as Morse code came back to him. He wasn't sure if the message would be deciphered and he hoped that even if no-one realised what he was attempting to do, it would at least be a sign that he was aware of what was happening. He tapped out the letters that he hoped would have maximum impact: L-U-K-E-S-H. It was all he could manage before he fell back into unconsciousness.

XXXXXXXXX

John awoke to the smiling face of one of the doctors. A computer screen had been set up in front of him and he could feel a small button under his index finger.

"I know this is a difficult time for you," the doctor stated. "Frustrating that you can hear what is happening but not be able to respond." He cleared his throat slightly, disheartened that he couldn't give any more solid answers to his patient, before indicating to the screen. "We have set up a communication system - designed specifically for patients in your condition."

John shifted his eyes to the screen as the doctor explained how the device worked before quietly leaving. He spent the next few minutes practising on it before he heard the door to his room opening.

"Agent Doggett." Follmer dipped his head in an appropriate sombre gesture. "We are pleased to see you are recovering from surgery." Follmer thought it must seem an empty statement to make to a man who could barely move his eyes, but it was the only thing he could think to say.

John wasn't quite sure who the 'we' was that he was referring to, but he needed to find out if his inkling that Monica was alive could possibly be true. He began to tap his finger and Follmer turned his head to the screen as letters appeared: MONICA.

"Agent Reyes is not here at the present time."

_Follmer must be trying to break it to me gently, _thought John, sorrow passing through him, _I must have dreamt it was her._ He was trying to read Follmer's reactions, confused by his lack of emotion if Monica truly was dead. He needed confirmation.

WHERE MONICA

"She is not allowed to speak to you...we are asking her the details about what happened." Follmer shoved his hands in his pockets before continuing. "We are dealing with the situation. If you just answer some questions for me, it will help clear this whole thing up."

_So she is alive!_ John felt the relief wash over his body. He didn't know how it was true and he didn't care. All he needed to know was that she was safe. He would lie in a hospital bed for a thousand years if it meant she was OK.

SPEAK TO HER

"No, Agent Doggett." Follmer shook his head slightly. "We don't think that is a wise decision at the moment."

John didn't understand what the problem was. He was confused and wary...and Monica was the only one who would understand. Why wouldn't Follmer let him talk to her?

"You can tell me what happened." Follmer spoke earnestly, as though Doggett had important information to reveal.

ONLY SPEAK TO MONICA

John saw the hesitation in Follmer's eyes as he contemplated the request. Follmer drew in a deep breath, unsure what Doggett's intentions were. He realised he was getting no where with his current form of questioning so reluctantly agreed with a nod of his head, before quickly making his way out of the room.

XXXXXXXXX

It seemed like an eternity. John's anticipation grew as the minutes ticked by, waiting for Monica to appear in the doorway. Unanswered questions plagued him as he lay there, unable to do anything else. How badly had she been hurt? How did she even survive in the first place? Had they caught Lukesh yet?

He was stirred from his thoughts as the door opened. He looked towards the sound and saw her standing there. He sighed inwardly at the visual confirmation that she was alive. No, it was more than that - she was an image of perfection. There wasn't a mark on her. He kept his eyes on her, absorbing the image in the hope it would override the one he had of her back in the stairwell. She cautiously made her way towards him, concern emanating from her face. He was transfixed, until he felt the warmth of the back of her hand on his cheek.

"John," she whispered, tears glistening in her eyes. She gently moved her hand until her palm caressed his cheek, the cold ring on her finger touching his ear. She gave him a sad smile, one that showed the contrast of emotions that were flooding through her and he closed his eyes, soothed by her touch. "Hey there." It was all she needed to say. She rubbed her thumb along his hair line before letting her arm fall away.

Although he was overjoyed that she was now standing before him, he struggled to understand how any of this was possible. He tried to put forth his most burning question.

ALIVE

"That's right, you're alive." She sat as she spoke, misunderstanding the intention of the statement. A brighter smile lit her features. "As if there was ever any doubt," she finished, the eternal optimist even though he could see her relief.

John was frustrated. He wanted to reach out and hold her, hug her to his chest and speak to her directly - tell her everything he felt. But instead, he had to tap away at the damn program to ask the most detailed questions in minimal words.

NO YOU HOW OK?

"Why am I alive? Is that what you're asking?" She looked confused by the question. "I'm fine John, why wouldn't I be?" She looked at him in perplexed sadness.

"Have him say who shot him." Follmer's cold tone broke the moment. It was the first time John had even realised he was in the room. He didn't care though...all he wanted to know was how Monica had gone from having a slit throat, to sitting before him in perfect health.

YOUR THROAT CUT

"My throat wasn't cut John, what do you mean?" She shook her head slightly trying to make sense of his words.

LUKESH KILLED YOU

TRIED TO KILL ME

His brow had the slightest furrow. Monica looked towards Follmer before turning back to him.

"John, I think you are a little confused about what happened." She slowly rose from her seat and leaned over his bed. "You have been through a lot. I think you need some more rest," she glanced over at Follmer warily, "before we ask you any more questions." She looked back at him with reassuring eyes. John watched as Follmer grabbed her by the elbow and escorted her out of the room.

XXXXXXXXX

Follmer returned at dusk, a notepad in his hand. He closed the door behind him.

"I need you to tell me the truth, Agent Doggett." He stared at Doggett with sad determination. "You can tell me if Monica was involved."

_'What are you talking about? Of course she was involved - you were there. Her throat was cut - you saw it too. _John didn't know what he could say. Everything that had happened seemed so real, yet here sat Follmer in direct defiance of that fact. And now he was acting as though Monica was somehow to blame. All he could do was try to relay the story as he had lived it, and hope that it was enough to convince someone. What else could he do?

Follmer looked at him in disbelief after he read the words that were written across the screen, yet he recorded the information diligently. "Well, Agent Doggett. Thank you for your information. I'm sure it will be...invaluable."

John watched him exit the room, leaving him with his own thoughts. It was like the world had been rearranged after he had been shot, but he hadn't been let in on the secret. The events of the day had taken their toll, both physically and mentally. The night passed quickly, the tiredness of John's recovering body allowing him to sleep for the majority of the time. He was thankful for that - too many of the waking hours were spent with his mind in tumultuous debate.

Monica visited the next day and he tried to get details about the case but she just seemed as confused as he. "There's so much that's impossible to reconcile," she said, looking downwards to gather her thoughts. "You say I was on a stakeout with you, I say you were at my apartment bringing me..." she hesitated as an idea emerged. "John...do you know a little stand on M street...supposed to be really good hotdogs?" She looked at him expectantly.

He wasn't sure how it was relevant, but answered the question anyway. POLISH SAUSAGE BEST IN THE CITY

He could see a theory formulating. "John...what if we were both right?" Her eyebrows raised a little as though asking if he would consider the idea for a moment. "What if you _were_ at my apartment and I _was_ on a stakeout with you at the exact same time? What would it take for that to be true?"

John thought over the idea briefly. It was impossible. He tried to give her some answer, hoping the sarcasm wasn't lost in the translation of the computer.

BOTH HAD TWINS  
WHICH WE DONT

"Except maybe we do, maybe all of us do." Typical Monica...no matter how outrageous a claim he made, she would consider it whole-heartedly. She moved towards him insistently and wrapped her fingers around his arm. "You've heard of the idea of a parallel universe. One that's identical...or, _nearly_ identical to our own. One in which we all have a double." She paused briefly, wrinkling her brow as she tried to justify the statements. "It's theoretical physics but...what if it's real?"

It was just too wild a possibility for John to accept. TOO MUCH STAR TREK

"You said yourself Erwin Lukesh was known for his impossible escapes," she reminded him. "You said that in the alley, you looked away only for an instant and he was gone." John's mind flashed back to the scene. It was all true...it really did happen that way. "And then somehow he was behind you...and he shot you," Monica continued "with _my_ gun. _My gun_...that never left my possession that entire afternoon."

John stared at the intensity in her eyes. He could see she was becoming more convinced with each word that passed her lips. "What if Lukesh can pass freely from one parallel world to the other? Like...like he's opening a door?"

Her words probed at his mind. It didn't make any sense...yet it made the _most_ sense of anything he had heard in the last two days. "And what if you followed him through that door, without even knowing it?"

Monica tilted her head in concentration, trying to piece together the chaotic puzzle that was begging to be solved. "Maybe when you followed Lukesh into this world, my..." she hesitated mid-sentence as the enormity of what she was saying hit home, and she looked up at him, somewhat dismayed "...my Doggett got forced out."

John thought it over. It was an incredible theory.

WOW

She considered his response and presented him with one of her sweetest smiles. "My Doggett would have called that crazy too." She let him take in the words, and then became a little more serious. "But give me another theory that fits."

They looked at each other for a few more moments, before Monica broke the silence. "I have to go," she told him, the regret in her voice evident. "I have to meet Follmer and Skinner at the station." She delicately ran her hand through his hair. "I'll come back as soon as I can."

XXXXXXXXX

John lay there, looking at the ceiling. He went over the conversation in his mind. Monica had only been gone for a few minutes before one phrase she had said came back to haunt him.

_My Doggett._

He wanted to deny it but those two words said so much. Little things that had happened made more sense when he accepted the fact. He mulled it over in his head - Monica had not once called him by his surname in the last two weeks, unless it had been due to the formality of work. And yet there she had sat, alone in the room with him, referring to him by his last name.

_Because it's not my Monica._ The realisation hit hard. He could look upon this Monica...the epitome of all the things he admired...and pretend that it was really her, but deep down he knew that what she had said to him was true. He didn't belong here. And as his mind processed the information, ultimate sorrow consumed him. _His _Monica was dead. Silent tears welled at the corners of his eyes, before slowly rolling down each cheek, ending their journey as they fell onto the sheets.

XXXXXXXXX

John was surprised to awaken and see Monica's face before him. "Hey, sleepy head." She gave him a berating stare. "Just because you are in hospital, doesn't mean you can just let yourself go."

He kept his eyes on her, unsure what she was referring to, until she saw the shaving cream and razor in her hands. She smiled at him brightly as she began to lather the shaving cream on his face. He savoured the sensation of her hands as they ran over his cheeks and chin, attempting to forget about the craziness of the last few days. She carefully picked up the razor and John smiled inwardly at her innocence as she concentrated on her actions, as though one wrong move might finish him off.

He tried to maintain the light mood. MISSED A SPOT

"Did not," she denied. "Anyway, that's what you get for hiring cheap help," she added cheekily.

He continued to look at her, delaying his next statement, realising that this would be the moment that would confirm the hopeless situation they were now in. BEEN THINKING

"Thinking about what?" The smile she had was slowly retreating, replaced with a questioning look as she wiped the remaining suds from his face.

SOUNDS CRAZY BUT THINK YOURE RIGHT She looked at him with concern. 2 DOGGETTS CAN'T BE IN 1WORLD U CAN FIX

"How?" she asked, looking at the screen for his response.

PULL THE PLUG

He waited for her reaction. He could see the quiver of her lip and her swallow deeply at his suggestion. "Bad joke," she choked out, not able to turn her gaze in his direction.

I GO YOUR DOGGETT COMES BACK He hated having to write those words...not because of what it meant for him...but because of how it was affecting her. He could see in her eyes the scared look of where he was heading with his idea but he knew he had to keep going. CMON YOUR THEORY SOUND

"My theory is sound? You don't believe a word of it, John." He could tell what she was trying to do - retreat from her theory because of the consequences it held. "Never in a million years would you believe. This has nothing to do with my theory." She looked at him in desperation.

DO U BELIEVE?

She paused after she read the words and turned her head towards him, tears threatening to spill from her lashes. Her nod was almost imperceptible.

PROVE IT

She swallowed once more, attempting to hold back her tears and shook her head in defiance. "I would do anything for you." She gave him her most honest look. "Anything but that."

Monica's cell phone rang loudly, breaking the intensity of the moment. She quickly answered it. "Reyes." Her voice faltered. John watched her trying to regain her composure as she continued her conversation. "Yes Sir, I'm fine." She listened intently and John waited for her to relay any information. She turned to him. "Lukesh killed his mother."

John kept listening to her end of the conversation, gaining what little details he could. "Do you have any idea where he is?" A few moments later, she said something that made John want to shout out at her, to force her to reconsider what he knew she was planning. "I think he'll find us."

She slowly pushed the off button on her phone, stalling for time before looking up. "John," she pleaded as she saw the look of concern in his eyes, "I have to." She took a deep breath and leant over his bed, pressing her lips to his forehead. She started to walk backwards, their eyes remaining locked, and then she turned and made her way to the door quickly before he had a chance to convince her otherwise.

XXXXXXXXX

John was once again left alone, but this time the sense of loneliness was formidable. He could almost envision the plan that Monica was going to put into action...putting herself in the same situation which had lead to the tragedy that had befallen his own Monica. He wanted to scream...to pull himself from his entrapment and prevent her from making the same mistake. His helplessness was excruciating and he prayed to whatever gods may be listening to spare her from a similar fate.

He never even got the chance to explain to this Monica how wonderful the last two weeks of his life had been before all this happened - everything they had talked about had revolved around the case. Did she even realise what she and _her_ Doggett were missing out on? He could tell from her actions that she truly loved him...but he knew the intensity between them must have been subdued in comparison to the bond that he had come to realise. Maybe the circumstances were different for them?

The more he thought about it, the more adamant he was that Monica should turn off the life-support. Whatever had occurred in that alleyway had thrown reality into disarray. He didn't know what would happen - whether it would set things straight or compound the chaos, but he knew this wasn't where he was supposed to be - and he knew she realised it too, no matter how much it hurt her. He waited anxiously; his only indication of the passing of time was the change of colour on his walls as the sky flowed from sunset to twilight.

XXXXXXXXX

The hospital seemed deserted. There was minimal light coming from the corridor outside his room, and it had to be at least forty minutes since someone had walked past. He began to wonder if anyone was going to inform him of what was going on, when he heard the soft sound of footsteps making their way down the hallway. And then he saw her, shadowing the doorway. She didn't need to say anything - her blank stare conveyed the message; it was all over, they had gotten Lukesh.

She slowly moved into the room and carefully closed the door behind her, delaying the inevitable for a little longer. She hung her head when she heard the click of the lock, as though it was a harsh reminder of John's sealed fate. She pushed through the dimness towards him, the darkness of the room appropriate for the sadness she felt in her heart. She looked at him adoringly, before gently lifting his hand from the bed, encasing it between her own. They looked at one another, no words required to explain their feelings - they both knew why she had returned.

Monica ever so slowly dragged her top hand away, unwilling to break the contact of her remaining hand. She moved one shaking finger towards the monitor and pressed the screen, disabling the alarm. She took a breath before staring at the red button that would end it all. John could see her struggle with the decision; he wanted to tell her she was making the right choice - the only choice - and not to feel guilty for what she was about to do. As she pushed the button, he managed to move his finger against the softness of her palm, hoping it could portray his final message as he faded into darkness.

Back to his Monica.

END


End file.
